


missing piece

by softambrollins



Series: missing piece [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Compliant, Codependency, Depression, Fluff, Getting Together, Loneliness, M/M, Reunions, Stolen Moments, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21684286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: Maybe if he kisses him long enough, he can figure out what he has to do, to fix himself, that missing piece inside him, to find the peace he's been searching and searching for for years with it always eluding him. Right now is the only time he's ever felt it in close reach.Seth comes to the realisation over time that he could never be happy without Dean.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: missing piece [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565665
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	missing piece

Seth spends hours and hours just lying awake in bed every single night for months after he left his brothers' broken bodies behind him in the ring and walked away for good.

The room's too quiet and his heartbeat's too loud and his mind is spinning around and around and out of control. He can't close his eyes without being bombarded by the same images flashing behind his eyelids. All the feelings he's tried so hard to rip out and bury rising back up to the surface in the stillness and isolation of the dark. 

It's always Dean's face, utterly shocked and betrayed, before the inevitable blow comes. It would probably be comical if it didn't haunt him. He trusted him, he trusted him so much, it's still staggering that anyone would ever trust him that much. Especially someone like Dean who'd never trusted anyone. It should've made him feel good, to crush it in his fist, to stomp all of his trust out forever, to realise that he had that much power and control over him, the ability to tear down his entire life and everything he loved with one precise, deliberate strike — but all he'd thought was _No one's ever going to look at me like he did again._

Dean's never going to go away. Not after what Seth did to him, _took_ from him. He's going to have to destroy him for him to let him go. Seth's known that for a while now.

Seth has plans, Seth has blueprints, Seth has machinations on top of plots on top of schemes. When you don't sleep, you have a lot of time to dream things up. Big things. Things he couldn't before because there were too many distractions, too many things in his way. They'll all thank him someday. He'll show them he was right all along. He was the only one with the strength to see the bigger picture, to do what had to be done. 

One thought always comes back to him though, every single night, gnawing at him from the inside, no matter how hard he tries to silence it or push it away: If it was the best thing for all of them, why can't he ever be at peace?

*

It takes driving his skull into concrete with his boot to get rid of Dean. At least for a little while. He has one month of relatively uninterrupted sleep. But maybe it's just the drugs. He wonders if the concussion affected his memory. Maybe he woke up in a hospital somewhere with no recollection of the past few months. Seth almost feels jealous of him. What he would give to quiet the thoughts in his head, stop seeing his fucking face, this time full of anguish and rage, screaming _I loved you, Seth_ , his hands rough and desperate around his neck, his lips soft on his forehead, every time he closes his eyes — 

Seth swallows a handful of pills. Goes to sleep. Maybe he won't remember tomorrow either.

*

His plans work, but that's not the end.

Everything's even harder now. Everyone's coming for him at all times and Seth doesn't even have a chance to find his footing, to appreciate what he has now, that he's finally where he's wanted to be his whole life. What he gave up everything else for without hesitation.

It's ironic, and maybe just what he deserves, that he only really gets that chance when he's lost all of it.

*

Seth wakes up after his surgery, groggy and disoriented, and he figures he has to still be dreaming, he's probably still under, because there's only one person standing there in the room looking at him and it's the last person who would ever be here.

He squints at the figure at the foot of his bed but he never really comes into focus. It just makes his head hurt even more.

"You're not real," he tells him, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, like that'll make him disappear.

Dean actually laughs at that, the sound echoing hollowly through the room, his silhouette blurred around the edges.

"And you're on drugs. Probably better this way." He shrugs.

"What do you — what do you want?" Seth asks him hoarsely.

"I'm not here to gloat or anything," Dean says, casually tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

"So, why are you here?" Seth asks cautiously.

"No one else is here." He says it like it's somehow the answer to his question, and that doesn't make any sense, but it feels like there's more to it than that.

Seth frowns up at him in confusion. "What?"

"You're all alone, Seth," Dean tells him, tone flat and even, and that makes it worse than if it was deliberately malicious. "Your title's gone. The Authority's not here. Seems like they only care about you when you can do something for them. No one else is here. But _me._ " Dean locks his eyes onto Seth's, gaze unwavering, making sure he understands that. Dean's not here to gloat, he's just here to remind Seth of everything he's lost. Everything he gave up for power and success when it never made him happy for a single day. And now that's all gone too. And all he's left with is this Shakespearean spectre of Dean Ambrose never letting him forget his sins. 

"Why?" he says stupidly, desperately, because he can't say anything else.

"Because you probably won't remember this the next time you wake up. Or maybe you will. Maybe you'll remember that I was the only person that was here. I was here. When no one else was. Even when you walked away." Seth remembers Dean's voice from months ago, holding his title, saying _I hope you remember what it felt like to be abandoned by your so-called friends… I hope you remember what it felt like when your whole world was crumbling down around you…_

"Why?" Seth asks again, hushed.

Dean just looks at him, breathes out slowly, a myriad of complicated emotions playing over his features. His face is suddenly clear as day. And then he turns without a word and walks out the door again.

Seth feels himself start to drift off and when he comes to again, he's not sure if it even happened at all or if he imagined it.

He doesn't ever forget that look on Dean's face though. He just can't shake it no matter what he does.

*

Seth's sitting at a bar in Vegas when someone drops onto the stool next to him, the strong smell of leather and whiskey wafting over him, and orders a drink using the bartender's first name like he's a regular here. And he'd know that voice anywhere.

He looks up and groans, his head still cradled in one hand, elbow resting on the wooden bar in front of him. "Are you real or am I imagining this again?"

Dean gives him a strange look like he has no idea what he's talking about. "How drunk are you, man?"

Seth just shrugs. It hasn't been that much, really, but it's been a long night. A long six months, really. Seth's dreamt about him a lot since he visited or didn't visit him in the hospital, but it was never anything like tonight. He couldn't predict this in his wildest dreams, in his most convoluted scenarios. As calculated as he is, the one thing he's never accounted for is Dean Ambrose always seeming to know him better than himself. 

"How'd you find me?" he asks instead.

Dean just looks amused. "Wasn't looking for you, man. This is just part of my usual route. Assuming I actually make it home this time and don't pass out in a gutter," he says, grinning that stupidly charming, roguish grin at him. Like he didn't just ambush him from behind and take his title. Again. For real this time. And something's definitely wrong with Seth's head because he's not even that angry anymore. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's something else, as unlikely as that might seem.

"Don't you wanna punch me in the face or something?" Seth suggests, thinking that might get this whole strange interaction back to some semblance of normal for them.

"Me?" Dean asks, like he's genuinely surprised. "Hey, I'm good, man. I got what I wanted tonight. You're the one who should probably be pissed."

Seth just looks across at him for a moment, processing that. "No," he eventually says. "I guess this just makes us even."

"Seriously? Not gonna whine and complain about how I 'stole' your title? That's not like you at all, man," Dean says, almost sounding teasing now, taking a swig of his drink.

"Not tonight," Seth says simply. Don't get him wrong, he'll be pissed tomorrow, he'll come up with another plan for revenge, to get back what's his. But right now he isn't entirely sure this isn't another elaborate dream. And he kinda wants to test how far it goes before it breaks.

Dean almost looks impressed. "Alright then."

Seth just turns sideways on his stool to lock eyes with him, head-on.

"So, what are we drinking?" he asks, one eyebrow cocked, like a dare.

Dean just smirks back at him.

*

It's hours later when they're stumbling down the sidewalk, arm in arm. Dean has to grab him and pull him back before he almost literally falls into traffic and they pause right there, Seth holding on to a post for balance, doubled over, laughing so hard that his midsection hurts and he can't breathe. He finally recovers after a few minutes, taking in deep gulps of air, straightening to look at him. Dean's just standing there, a carefree smile on his face, and he can't remember the last time he was with Dean and Dean was _so happy_. It almost knocks the wind right out of him again. Almost transports him back to some other time and place where he didn't fuck everything up. 

Before he can think about what he's doing, he's reaching out and wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, pulling him into a slow, tender kiss. Dean doesn't resist, just melts against him for a moment, and then another, parting his lips to slot their mouths together like they were made to fit like this. His body feels warm and loose and familiar against his own. His mouth tastes of the same liquor that Seth must taste of too, but that's not the only reason he's intoxicated right now. It's his skin and his scent and the small sigh he makes against his lips and the gentle weight of his hand resting on Seth's chest right over his heart, fingers grasping at his t-shirt, pressed into the narrow space between them. 

He's pretty sure this can't possibly be real, there's no way, he gave up every chance of ever having this years ago, knowing fully well what he was doing, there's no part of him that deserves this even as he now suddenly realises that this is _all_ he wants, the universe could never be this unfair — and then, as though he seems to finally realise that too, Dean pushes him back away from him, just an inch, hand still clutching at his shirt.

"What the fuck," he exhales, sounding dazed, but he doesn't move any further away.

Seth just stares at him with wide eyes. If this was a dream, he would wake up now. But Dean's still standing there. Looking more real than he ever has. His eyes suddenly clear and startlingly sober.

Seth's about to stutter out an apology when Dean surges forward and catches his lips again, harder this time, arms slipping around his waist, his palms splayed against the curve of Seth's spine and pressing their bodies closer together. Seth tilts his head to the side to line them up properly, one hand settling on his jaw for leverage, the other at the back of his neck, curling into his soft hair, lips sliding purposefully and deliberately over Dean's, like another one of his intricate plans. Like he wants to learn and know and feel everything he can from this one action. Maybe if he kisses him long enough, he can figure out what he has to do, to fix himself, that missing piece inside him, to find the peace he's been searching and searching for for years with it always eluding him. Right now is the only time he's ever felt it in close reach.

When they finally draw apart, it feels like it's been hours or days. Like the seasons have changed around them. Or like they've rewound the clock, gone back to one of those countless moments before, _before_ , when they could've done something. Maybe it would've changed everything. Maybe it still could.

Dean takes his hand in his own and they keep walking in silence and it's suddenly somehow easy to forget the last two years. Easier than it's ever been.

*

Seth wakes up alone in his hotel room having no idea how he even got back here. He sits up in bed, carefully looking around for signs of someone else's presence, but it's exactly the way he left it. Empty and silent. He throws his arm over his eyes to block the midday light coming in through the windows, flops back down on the mattress with a sharp " _Fuck_."

*

A year later, Dean saves him with a steel chair and Seth squints at him with one good eye, vision blurry, the whole world swimming in front of him, and wonders once again if this is actually real.

Things get a bit too real the next week when everything comes spilling out at once. It's hard, so fucking hard, but it's the biggest relief he's ever felt at the same time. This, this is what he wants, what he needs. It's always been this and he was just too blind to see it. Dean's the only thing he wants and he'll do anything to get him back.

Later when they're alone, Seth just says it before he loses the courage again. 

"Why'd you leave me alone that night?" he asks, voice soft and raw. 

"What night?" Dean responds tersely.

"You know what night. Vegas. After you took the title from me," Seth tells him, feeling the frustration building again now. Dean could probably pretend in the ring in front of everyone, but Seth knows better. He knows that it wasn't just him feeling what he felt on that city street in the middle of the night.

"That was...that was a dream," Dean murmurs, his face blank.

"No, it wasn't," Seth insists. "It was _real_."

"Why didn't you say anything after then?" Dean says, through gritted teeth, sounding almost bitter.

"Because I didn't know — I didn't know what you _wanted_ ," Seth tells him helplessly.

Dean shakes his head. "You weren't ready. It wasn't the right time. You didn't mean it." He says it like it's just a series of facts, like it's what he's been telling himself over and over in his mind for a year.

"How do you know that?" Seth asks, feeling like his heart is about to break. 

"Because I know _you_ ," Dean says, with a tone of finality.

"Dean —" Seth exhales, like a plea.

"You only wanted it because you were sad and alone. You only want this now because Triple H doesn't want you anymore. You just think this is gonna make you happy, and maybe it will for a while, until you want something else. Because you don't know _what_ you want, Seth. And I _can't_ — I can't do this again. I'm sorry — I shouldn't have — " Dean cuts himself off with a sad, regretful sound.

"No, that's not — That's not true," Seth says quietly, because he has to believe it's not. Even though everything Dean's saying makes all the sense in the world, even though he can't blame him for thinking that. Even though that's another fear that haunts him in the middle of the night. Maybe he's just not capable of being this person. The person that's worthy of Dean's trust and love. Maybe he never will be. Maybe he'd destroyed any possible world where Dean could look at him like that again. Maybe they were just pretending. 

_You?_ he'd said so scornfully, dismissively. _I don't know you._

"Why should I believe you?" Dean asks now, his expression full of pure and utter pain.

Seth lets out a heavy breath. "It's been three years and I haven't slept through the night once," he tells him truthfully.

Dean just shakes his head again. "No. No. This isn't real." Like he's convincing himself.

And then he turns and leaves, vanishes like a wisp of smoke into nothingness.

*

They go back to Seth's hotel room after the fist bump heard around the world.

Seth watches as Dean takes his jacket off, visibly adjusts to being here, alone, with Seth, for the first time in years.

He takes a few slow steps towards him across the carpet, waiting until their bodies are almost touching before looking up into his eyes.

They just stay there for a few moments, their breathing causing their chests to graze against each other through their t-shirts every other second, just taking in the sight and smell of each other in the enclosed space, in such close proximity. 

Seth finally reaches out, takes Dean hand in his own, lacing their fingers together, gently brushes his thumb over the back of his hand. 

Then he raises his other hand to his face. Seth runs his fingertips down his cheek, along the line of his jaw, to his lips, like he's trying to map him out in his mind. Like he wants to save every part of him. Commit him to the blueprint that makes up his own heart.

Seth lightly traces his bottom lip with his thumb, Dean's eyes falling shut with a low exhale, before he sucks just the tip of it in between his lips, pressing a warm, wet kiss to his sensitive skin before releasing it.

He brushes his lips over Dean's cheek now, eyes closed, fingers stroking over his beard. "I'm sorry," he tells him, voice cracking.

He leans over to the other side, kisses his other cheek. "I'll never hurt you again," he promises, quiet but sure.

He finally touches their lips together, just a ghost of a kiss, dry and soft, noses sliding against each other. "I love you," he murmurs, warm breath passing from his lips over Dean's.

Seth guides him over to the bed and they lie down together. Dean wraps his arms around him and Seth curls his body into his chest. He tucks his face right below his collarbone, inhaling his scent, feeling the warmth of his skin through his soft t-shirt. He closes his eyes, feeling almost dizzy from it. Dean's hands are in his hair and his mouth's pressed gently to the top of his head and Seth can hear his heartbeat right against his ear, in sync with his own, and he has no idea how he ever survived without this, how he ever thought it would feel _right_ without him. 

Seth was never complete after he left, he was never the person he thought he would be, there was always something missing. A part of him. Something fundamental in his very being that just went dark and cold for years without him. Maybe there's some chemical in his cells that reacts with a matching one in Dean's just from being near, that causes this strange and undeniable electricity, that he needs to keep the light and the warmth alive inside of him. Without him, he'll just burn out. Maybe it's something else, something that can't be explained at all. Maybe he was too afraid to admit it to himself before because of how big and heavy it feels. Bigger than any plan he's ever made. Big enough to destroy him if he ever lost it again. But he knows now that nothing in his life will ever feel right without this. 

*

Now he's alone again. He remembers the hospital room after his surgery, remembers the bar in Vegas. It's almost like it never really happened at all. Almost like he'd imagined it. All of it. Like Dean was really just a ghost and a dream. Like the precious few months they had together was a limited resource of happiness that he used up too quickly. Because once again he's left with nothing. Dean gave him a sweet, blissful taste of what it could be like, and now he's gone. To better and brighter things. And Seth is in the exact same place he's always been. Maybe he's doomed to be here forever. Forever cursed with the knowledge that he'll never be happy again when there's an aching chasm in his soul. When all the light has unceremoniously been extinguished from his life. 

Dean's probably somewhere out there, miles and miles away, fast asleep. Content and at peace and _whole_.

Seth squeezes his eyes shut, thinking about the last time he was in his arms, but sleep never arrives to quell his suffering. All he's left with is cold sheets and empty space and one solitary heartbeat echoing through the endless night.


End file.
